Flying North
by RiderAtHeart
Summary: At the end of Inheritance, Murtagh and Thorn leave Urû'baen, needing time alone, time to heal. They don't know where they will go. North, maybe. Somewhere away from other people. Murtagh tells Eragon that they intend to return when 'the world no longer seems quite so hateful and we no longer feel like tearing down mountains and filling the sea with blood'.
1. Chapter 1

Full summary:

At the end of Inheritance, Murtagh and Thorn leave Urû'baen, needing time alone, time to heal. They don't know where they will go. North, maybe. Somewhere away from other people. Murtagh tells Eragon that they intend to return when 'the world no longer seems quite so hateful and we no longer feel like tearing down mountains and filling the sea with blood'.

This is the story of how dragon and Rider reached this point. Fleeing the hatred of others, needing time to stop hating themselves, they hid. They waited to heal.

***I've changed one thing from Inheritance to suit my story better, which is this: Eragon did not give Arya two eggs before he left; he gave two each to Nasuada, Arya, Orik and the Herndall, the leaders of the four races. Other than that, I've tried my hardest to keep faithfully to the work of my role model, Christopher Paolini. If I've failed in even the tiniest of ways, please let me know. Enjoy the story, Fricaya un Shur'tugalya***

Chapter1

The wind was cold, and breathing was hard, but Murtagh and Thorn chose not to be seen as they flew. Murtagh knew the sight would only frighten those below, and he would prefer neither Eragon nor Nasuada nor anyone else to hear tales of a red dragon flying north. Though it had been a long time since they had seen any sign of habitation, he would rather no one had any hint as to where he and Thorn were going.

Nasuada had already tracked him down once, in a crowded market place in Narda, and insisted on speaking to him in private. She seemed to find the encounter as uncomfortable and painful as he did, but she had said what she came to say, and forced him to take one of the bonded dragon eggs that Eragon had left her. Murtagh wasn't sure why, but all Nasuada had said when he asked was, 'just in case'.

Thorn was choosing their course, and Murtagh left him to it, instead contemplating, for the thousandth time, the hard lump in one of the saddlebags. He had turned the egg over in his hands a hundred times, and was as familiar with its appearance as he was with Thorn's.

The egg was a strange colour, one he had never seen the like of before in all the paintings Galbatorix had shown him. It was a pale, blue-tinged white, and its surface shimmered all the colours of the rainbow when it caught the light, like one of the dwarves' opals. The light shining off the egg had reflected in Nasuada's eyes as she had handed it to him, and he remembered thinking how lovely they were.

Murtagh shoved both the egg and Nasuada out of his mind, and thought instead of where he and Thorn could go. They had spent the winter in a cave in the Spine, further north than even the ruins of Carvahall, hunting what few deer there were and stealing nuts and berries from squirrels and sleeping bears. When spring came, they had again taken to the sky, flying north all the while, sleeping and eating only when they had to.

They had stopped for several weeks in the forest of Du Weldenvarden, far away from any elvish constructions or any indication of other sentient beings at all. But still it did not feel like a place they could stay. So six days ago, he and Thorn had resumed their flight. They had scarcely rested since.

Murtagh was jolted from his reverie by Thorn beginning his descent, spiralling down to the base of a lone mountain. Thorn showed Murtagh an image of a cave he'd spotted, and a wordless question asking if they should sleep there. Murtagh nodded, and again felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that, despite the many awful things both he and his father had done, fate had seen fit to give him Thorn.

As he built a fire and found his blanket in the saddlebags, Murtagh felt how sore Thorn's wings were, and noticed how they were shaking from exhaustion. Thorn hadn't wanted to complain, but he had been flying too much, with not enough rest, and would need some time on the ground before he could fly again, as neither he nor Murtagh knew the right spell to heal them. They could have guessed, of course, but it was safer not to risk it.

Murtagh settled down to sleep beside Thorn, and Thorn placed his wing over Murtagh. Sharing thoughts and feelings and ideas, they drifted off, and shared their dreams.

Murtagh's dreams began, like always, with the battle of Dras Leona, the terrified faces of the Varden soldiers as they realised they were about to die, dragging a screaming Nasuada from her tent. This dissolved into an image of that bolt of energy flying at Hrothgar, sounds of the dwarves cries as their king was killed. Then came Gil'ead, a bedlam of butchery and blood, Galbatorix's mesmerising voice rushing through him and clouding his vision with a wash as red as the blood he'd spilled. Murtagh felt his arm rise without his control, delivering the final death stroke, slashing Oromis from neck to hip. His mind shifted to the scene he feared the most- burning Nasuada, the sound of her pain ringing in his ears, the look on her face as she recognised him. And all through the dreams echoed Galbatorix's laughter, mixed with the screams of the dying and living, rising and falling and all swirling into one torturous, evil noise.

He awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright, barely holding back a yell. Murtagh's skin was damp with a cold sweat, and his heart was racing as though he'd just run a mile.

Almost every night since Urû'baen he had been plagued with such nightmares. In them would feature all the memories he hated and feared, all the things he was afraid would happen, all the mistakes he'd made.

They made Murtagh fear sleep, fear the dark, fear his own mind. He had deep purple bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his arms were covered in deep cuts where he had dug in his nails in an effort to keep himself awake. Murtagh was slowly going mad and he knew it. The only reason he hadn't yet was the comfort Thorn provided.

Thorn was still sleeping, and the sound of his deep breathing was calming, but Murtagh felt as though he would explode if he just sat there, so he got up and went outside.

The pine forest around the cave mouth was dark and cold, but Murtagh liked the sleepy silence of the woods. It was so different from the sounds in his nightmares that Murtagh found it hard to believe he could still be in the same world as the world where Nasuada had screamed in agony, where he had _made_ her scream.

A noise caught his attention, a soft, wet, sliding crunch. Murtagh turned towards the noise, reaching for his hip, but Zar'roc was still in the cave. A moment later Murtagh almost laughed at himself as a rabbit-like creature hopped out from behind the tree.

Shaking his head at his foolishness, Murtagh kept walking.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sun was up before Murtagh returned to Thorn, stomach rumbling, eager for food. Thorn was waiting outside the cave, and it was a second before Murtagh noticed how tense and nervous he was.

"What is it?" Murtagh asked with both voice and mind.

_Look._

Thorn walked a few steps from the cave, into the trees, and jerked his head at the ground.

In the mud and snow behind the tree was a clearly defined footprint.

_That isn't yours, is it?_

Murtagh shook his head, "no, it's too small."

Murtagh quickly showed Thorn his memories of that morning, and said, _I think this might be the same place, but I can't be sure._

_We could not have been followed. No two-legs or four-legs are fast enough._

_Eragon could have, though._

_He will be busy raising the dragons. Whatever made that footprint is gone now. Do not worry._

Thorn sent more wordless reassurances, and Murtagh decided not to worry about the footprint.

Murtagh and Thorn knew that they had long left the part of Alagaësia on even the elves' maps, and this knowledge had sparked an idea in Murtagh as he wandered through the trees.

_Do you think we could stay here, Thorn? It feels… calm, somehow. _

_We will have to stay until I am ready to fly, in any case. But right now I don't see why not. It is nice here._

_Will you mind if I go hunting today?_

_No. I will need to rest for much of the day in any case, but do not stray too far. We don't yet know what dangers might be here._

Murtagh followed Thorn back into the cave, pulled on his gloves and picked up Zar'roc and his bow. Thorn lay down, curled up by the fire. Murtagh stroked his snout briefly and left.

The animals in the woods clearly had little or no experience with humans. None of them seemed to fear or mistrust Murtagh, and he felt bad for killing them. But he and Thorn had to eat, and he valued Thorn's life over theirs. His own, not so much, but he could not leave Thorn.

Murtagh had easy hunting, and within a few hours he had enough meat to last himself and Thorn at least a week, provided Thorn didn't have another growth spurt and eat it all in a day. He carried the carcasses back to the cave in several trips, cleaned them and put the meat at the back of the cave, away from the sun. The offal he buried away from the cave to discourage scavengers.

Thorn's nose twitched as Murtagh carried the meat past him, but he did not wake.

The sun was descending as Murtagh went outside, but he judged there were still two or three hours of daylight left, even considering how short the days were so far north. At a loss for what to do with the time, Murtagh decided to simply take another walk, maybe explore some. He wondered again about the dragon egg now sitting at the back of the cave.

The pine trees had darker needles and were smaller and less close-packed than those in Du Weldenvarden, but Murtagh had the same feeling he had had there, that this was a forest older than Riders, older than dragons, almost as old as time itself. He wished he'd been able to visit the elves' cities instead of skulking in the uninhabited sections of the forest and running.

The sun shone through the needles, dappling the ground with a greenish light, and the trees whispered in a cold breeze. It was the most peaceful place Murtagh had ever been.

His foot crunched through one of the patches of snow that littered the ground, and he thought again of the footprint in the trees. Was it in the same place as he had heard someone standing? If so, what were they doing there? Were they following him, or had it just been a lost hunter?

But it couldn't have been a hunter. The animals seemed never to have met one before, and, anyway, there were no settlements within less than about two months' journey. It would be pointless to venture this far from home to get food. Nor would anyone small enough to have a foot that size be able to survive a journey through icy mountains and forests and probably bear territory. Murtagh's breath plumed as he scoffed at the idea, trying to dismiss his worries.

Something flashed through the trees, like the wing of a bird in flight, but the wrong shape. And no bird was that large.

This time Murtagh reacted faster, racing to where he had seen the blurred movement, but it was already gone, whatever it was. He glanced at the ground- and froze.

Another footprint, the same size as the last, was imprinted into the soft soil around the tree.

Murtagh straightened up, thinking maybe there would be a trail he could follow, but as he looked again at the print, the soil shifted. And the footprint was gone, as though it had never existed.

Murtagh cursed loudly. Of all the things to have found him and Thorn, a rogue magician was one of the worst.

He sprinted back to the cave, shouting for Thorn to wake, with both mind and voice, as soon as he was close enough. Murtagh ducked into the cave, only to find Thorn still asleep. Murtagh tried to wake the dragon, but Thorn slept on. Murtagh sighed, and sat down to wait.

As he waited, Murtagh thought, and he realised that, even if there was a spellcaster here, Thorn was not strong enough to fly very far yet. And despite the new dangers of this place, Murtagh still liked it here. He did not want to leave.

Besides, very few spellcasters could match the strength of a dragon and its Rider. Murtagh would just have to hope that this one wasn't one of those few.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Two days later, Thorn's wings were air worthy again, but neither he nor Murtagh wanted to leave.

Murtagh had not seen any sign of another person in the woods since he had found the footprint, meaning that the person had probably moved on, and so he and Thorn had decided to stay until they were either forced to leave, or again felt restless and moved on.

With this in mind, Murtagh had begun to construct a proper shelter for the two of them, so that he wouldn't need to pile himself with dead needles as well as his blankets to keep from freezing at night. Keeping the cave as the main part seemed like a good idea, but it needed some sort of door to keep out the elements. It also seemed like a good idea to set up a place to smoke meat for later, for dragon and Rider both thought it possible that they would spend the winter here, though it was still many months away.

So Murtagh got to work.

He felled trees with Zar'roc, taking care not to cut too many trees in one place or trees too near the cave. Thorn split them into crude planks with his claws and hunted while Murtagh built.

It was hard work, but having something to do helped Murtagh forget his memories for a while, at least until that night's round of terrors played out in his head.

Lacking nails, Murtagh had to bore holes in the wood and lash the planks together with braided grass. It took the best part of three days- because grass is not the best material with which to tie together heavy bits of wood- but eventually Murtagh had built a wall that would cover the whole cave mouth.

The harder part was finding a way to make it swing outwards like an enormous door so that Thorn could enter and leave. Dismissing grass as too weak, Murtagh gave up and used some of his precious store of rope to hinge the door. Fearing that it too would break under the strain of the door, he strengthened it with a quick spell.

Murtagh then dug a short trench, about a foot deep and two wide, in the soft earth about thirty yards from the cave. He fortified the sides with stones, and the next day built the walls of the smokehouse over it.

Murtagh filled the base with green wood that would smoke well, and put in most of his and Thorn's meat to smoke.

Finished, Murtagh went to find Thorn.

Thorn was hunting, so Murtagh climbed a tree and settled down to wait. Half an hour later, Thorn returned, clutching the remains of a huge boar in his claws.

Murtagh showed Thorn the smokehouse, feeling almost pleased with all his work. Thorn sniffed at the meat inside, and pretended to take a bite of the house. Amused, Murtagh shoved him away.

That night, Murtagh had his worst nightmare in weeks.

_He was standing in the Hall of the Soothsayer again, with Nasuada chained to the table._

_Galbatorix was sitting beside her, and he looked at Murtagh and spoke the command._

_And Murtagh was turning to the corner where the brazier sat, full to the brim with red hot coals. _

_He picked up the glowing iron, hating himself, and turned back to Nasuada._

_Her screams filled the air again, but her eyes were fixed upon Murtagh all the while, and he saw in them her hatred, her fear, her terrible pain. _

_Looking at her, Murtagh felt a rush of tangled, confused thoughts and emotions._

_Nasuada had always been kind to him. She hadn't hated him because he was Morzan's son. She had visited him gladly, talked to him without a hint of mistrust. He remembered thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen._

_Now he was being forced to torture her. She would never forget, never forgive him. There would always be that pain in her eyes when she looked at him. _

_He loved her. _

_He always would._

_But because of Galbatorix, she would never love him._

_And he was pressing the iron to her beautiful skin again and again, and she was screaming as though her lungs would burst._

_Murtagh tried to stop, tried to turn the iron first on Galbatorix, then on himself. Anything to stop her pain. But nothing worked._

_Her screams mingled with Galbatorix's sadistic laughter, creating a sound more horrible than any Murtagh had ever heard. _

_Part of Murtagh knew that this was a dream, it was only his memories being replayed, and he tried to wake. But he could not. The dream held him fast, and he could not stop burning Nasuada. No matter how he tried, he could not wake._

A long time later, or so it felt, a sharp pain shot up Murtagh's leg, dragging him from his tortured mind and into the blessedly quiet morning.

It was a moment before Murtagh realised that Thorn had scratched him on the calf to wake him, and the warm liquid he could feel there was blood.

_You were screaming. You had another nightmare, didn't you? I could sense your fear._

Murtagh became conscious that he had bitten his tongue, and spat blood onto the floor before he answered.

"It was worse this time, Thorn. So much worse. It wasn't just little snapshots of events. We left the Empire to heal, but it's not working. I'm scared to go to sleep for fear of what I might dream. His laughing is everywhere... why is he always laughing?!"

_Murtagh._

Thorn placed his wing over Murtagh, hugging him close, and shared comfort and sympathy with him. Underneath it, Murtagh could sense Thorn's own pain, his horror at what they had done.

_What will become of us, Thorn?_

_I don't know. We may roam for centuries before we feel we are healed. _

_And... Thorn?_

_Aye?_

_What about Nasuada?_

_I do not know. I can feel how much you love her. But it may be impossible._

_I hurt her, Thorn. She will never forgive me. Every time she looks at me she remembers only her time in Urû'baen. I saw it in her eyes in Narda. She will never look at me and see a man who loves her and would give her the world if he could. She will never see the man she saw in Tronjheim again, never a good person forced unwillingly into foul deeds. All Nasuada will ever see of me ever again is the man in the silver mask who stood over her with a branding iron and watched as she screamed!_

_Calm yourself Murtagh. Calm. Time heals all wounds._

_She is mortal, though. She has only so much time._

Murtagh sighed, and huddled closer to Thorn's side.

_At least I have you, friend of my heart. _

_You will always have me._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Another week passed without anything of importance happening, apart from Murtagh having to rebuild his smokehouse after Thorn set it on fire when he sneezed.

Murtagh and Thorn spent most of this time in quiet contemplation, trying to come to terms with what they had done.

Murtagh's nightmares continued, and from what he could tell so did Thorn's. Thorn never spoke of them, but occasionally when he woke in the night Murtagh would hear him whimpering in his sleep.

_We are broken, _thought Murtagh. _We might never heal._

Murtagh took many walks through the trees and up the lonely mountain in the following days. He wondered what the name of the mountain was, and decided that he and Thorn should give it a name themselves. Making up names would give them something to do.

On his walks, Murtagh sometimes noticed Urgal tracks or the remains of campfires, but inspection showed that all were several weeks old. Thorn saw no sign of an Urgal village when he and Murtagh flew together, which made it likely that the Urgals had just been passing through.

_I still think it should be called _Mount Thorn_, Murtagh._

_How many times do I have to say it, Thorn? Naming it _Mount Thorn_ is both narcissistic and downright stupid. It looks nothing like a thorn._

Murtagh wished he hadn't brought up the subject of naming the mountain with Thorn. Thorn was being silly and juvenile and very stubborn, but Murtagh had at least persuaded him out of calling the mountain Mount Tree. Thorn thought that, as the mountain was covered in trees and because they were in trees now and because he rather liked trees, they should name the mountain the same.

_Why don't you name it in the ancient language? _

_Because I can't think of a good name._

_How about Du Fell abr Thorn?_

_Really, Thorn?_

Thorn laughed deep in his throat, and Murtagh couldn't help smiling a little in return. Thorn was acting strangely today. If Murtagh hadn't known better, he would have said the dragon was drunk.

_How about Du Fellvarden?_

_The Protecting Mountain?_

_Well, why not? It is protecting us, isn't it, Thorn?_

_I suppose it is. Well, if we can't think of anything better soon, we will call it Du Fellvarden._

Murtagh continued to hunt on and around the newly-named Fellvarden. The animals were learning to fear him, and game was harder to bring down than it had been when he first arrived, but Murtagh was still easily managing to feed himself. Thorn, of course, needed none of Murtagh's game, as he was perfectly capable of getting his own.

A larger problem was that lately Murtagh had begun feeling ill. No matter how much Murtagh ate he never felt properly full, and he was losing weight bit by bit. His head spun if he stood up or moved too quickly, he felt nauseated at times, and swallowing was becoming painful.

Hunting was growing harder as Murtagh's illness steadily got worse. Murtagh didn't know what was wrong, but he kept going about things as he normally would in the hope that he would get better and that the physical activity would help.

It soon got to the point where, during hunting one day, Murtagh found himself literally unable to give chase when his quarry bolted. Wiping bile from his lips, Murtagh leaned against a tree and waited for the ground to stop shaking.

Thorn was several miles away, exploring, and so Murtagh had no one to give advice or even comfort after his latest bout of illness.

"What's wrong with me?" Murtagh whispered to the forest in general.

He was extremely surprised when a low voice answered, "You've got rabbit starvation, of course, you fool."

Murtagh almost fell over again with shock.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A girl stepped out from behind a tree, looking at him worriedly.

"I thought you would have figured out by now what was wrong. Obviously I credited you with more intelligence than you possess."

Murtagh could only stare.

The girl was- or at least looked- human, with long brownish-black hair, bright blue eyes and a sharp, bladelike nose. Her face was long and thin. She looked about seventeen at the most, but her eyes had the sad, knowing look of someone much older. She also looked vaguely familiar to Murtagh, though he could not have said whom she reminded him of.

She was dressed in a green tunic and darker leggings, with leather boots and belt, all of which looked well made and expensive, though extremely travel worn. There was an elegant bow slung over the girl's arm, a quiver of arrows strapped to her back, and several long, finely crafted hunting knives hung from her belt.

As Murtagh took all this in, the girl continued to talk, sounding concerned.

"You need more fat in your diet. Your body can't live off lean meat alone. If you don't eat more fatty meats, you will slowly starve to death on a full stomach. You idiot, Murtagh! How have you not heard of rabbit starvation?"

Murtagh finally found his voice.

"Who are you?" He croaked.

"My name is Falcon."

"That's not what I asked."

"It more or less is. But I am not going to tell you whoI am or why I'm here or anything else you might have been implying with that question. That's my business."

"How do you know my name?"

The girl looked at him oddly, as though deciding what to tell him.

"Doesn't everyone in Alagaësia know of Murtagh Kingkiller Morzansson and his red dragon, Thorn?"

"We're not in Alagaësia anymore."

"True. But I come from there, as do you."

Murtagh wondered at this strange girl- Falcon. Her voice was quiet and her manner reserved, although underneath he thought he saw sadness and uncertainty, overlaying a determination as inexorable as time itself. The one thing that was missing was hatred. Everyone he'd spoken to after he'd begun his work for Galbatorix had had the same fearful hatred of him in their eyes. But Falcon did not.

"Well then, Falcon, if you are to be believed, you have just saved my life," Murtagh said slowly.

The girl flared up at once. "And why shouldn't I be believed, pray tell? You have all the symptoms of rabbit starvation, and you _know _you haven't eaten any fatty meats in gods know how long! Don't you _dare_ patronise me!"

"Alright, alright, calm down, I meant no offense."

Falcon snorted.

"Do you want my help or not, _dragon rider_?"

"Why do I need your help?"

"Because you clearly don't know a thing about medicine or the natural world or engineering or herbal remedies, very little of gramarye or wilderness survival… get the point?"

"And you do, do you?"

"Do you want my help or not?" The anger had left Falcon's voice now, and she sounded weary.

"Well, if you are as knowledgeable as you say, then why not? I will warn you though, if you ever do a thing to harm Thorn, I'll slit your throat where you stand."

"I would expect no less from a rider. Now, I know where you are camped, so just let me collect some things and I'll join you. It'll be nice to see a dragon again, not to mention have a hunting partner."

Falcon slipped away before Murtagh had a chance to ask any of the questions on the tip of his tongue.

_What in seven hells did she mean, nice to see a dragon _again_?_

Later that evening, Murtagh was sitting with his back against Thorn's leg, sharing his memories of the day.

He was a little more than halfway through his account of the strange Falcon when the girl herself slipped quietly in the door. Murtagh was surprised to see that she carried at least three large and heavy looking bags with supreme ease. He wondered what was in them.

She put them down in a corner in the very back of the cave, and started to roll out her blankets without saying a word.

_Why did you say she could join us, Murtagh? _

_She's smart. Smarter than either of us. I thought she could help us carve out a life here. And she did know what was wrong with me, didn't she?_

Murtagh couldn't help thinking again about what Falcon had said- that it would be nice to see a dragon _again_. He tried to keep it from Thorn, but couldn't.

_She's seen a dragon before? Murtagh. Ask her about it. Now._

"You're talking about me, aren't you?"

Falcon's vaguely accusatory voice broke into Thorn and Murtagh's thoughts from across the room.

"Yes, we were," Murtagh said, deciding there was no point in lying to this peculiar girl, "Thorn wants me to ask what you meant when you said it would be nice to see a dragon _again_. Have you seen them before?"

The girl cocked her head and said, "ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies."

"How," said Murtagh, getting annoyed, "do you expect us to trust you and work with you if you won't even tell us the simplest of things?"

Falcon pinched the bridge of her nose and answered, "I mean you no harm, I can promise you that. I am offering you help because you need it, and because I am sick of roaming the mountains on my own. I'm lonely, and most, when they find out who I am, shun me. Because of who you are, I know that I can trust you not to. You are a good person, Murtagh, and you also, Thorn. I will never hurt you. You have been hurt enough."

Murtagh was, for a moment, speechless. Then he asked, "Why do they shun you?"

"Once more, that's my business. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to sleep. Thank you again for allowing me to join you."

**Author's note:**

**Updates are going to be random, I'm afraid. I prefer to get something finished perfectly before I send it out rather than uploading an imperfect copy, even if it is earlier.**

**On top of that, I have a lot of work to do and my will to write comes and goes as it damn well pleases.**

**I do apologise for all of this. If you still stick with the story, it'll probably be worth it, but I won't make any definite promises just in case I get hit by a bus, or suddenly become as close to illiterate as some of the authors you might already have read on here through massive cranial trauma or a brain-meltingly large amount of alcohol. Not that I drink. Maybe someone will hide it in my breakfast cereal.**

**I will definitely update as often as I can, though.**

**And thank you to all of you who've left me such positive reviews already. I can't tell you how much they made me smile. **

**Any theories on anything about Falcon? I'm really keen to know how much you readers (if I actually have any) can figure out. There're some hints if you look carefully.**

**Thank you again.**

**Bye.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next week or so passed quickly. Murtagh's nightmares continued, regularly jolting him from sleep. Falcon remained as mysterious as ever about her past, but she was otherwise very helpful to Murtagh and Thorn.

Falcon pointed out to Murtagh that, rather than having one large door covering the mouth of the cave, wouldn't it be easier to have two smaller double doors instead? She also reinforced his smokehouse so that it didn't fall over whenever a strong wind blew, and built a contraption by an icy stream to keep meat cool. Not that they really needed to- there was plenty of snow around- but perhaps they would when the short summer came.

She showed Murtagh how to find the fatty deposits on a deer's carcass behind its eyes and in the marrow, and Murtagh began to recover almost at once. He was still weak, but he grew stronger by the day.

When Murtagh voiced his regret that there was nothing but meat to be had one evening, Falcon provided him with seeds and a small shovel. However, she refused to help with the planting of a garden; she hated dirt and digging and all things related.

Thorn soon agreed that Murtagh had done the right thing in allowing Falcon to join them. She had helped repair and build structures with an enthusiasm Murtagh lacked, and on the few rare times she was happy she spread life and cheer to them both with her excited joy in everything that surrounded her.

However, Thorn was adamant that Murtagh should not tell Falcon of the dragon egg hidden in Thorn's saddlebags, at least until they knew some more about her and whether or not she was trustworthy.

Murtagh had tried asking Falcon about her past so many times that he had lost count, but he had also lost count of the number of times she had said it was none of his business, and he knew very little more about her than he had after their first conversation in the cave.

Falcon was very intelligent, he could tell that much, and seemed to have an almost unlimited store of knowledge on an enormous number of subjects.

She did not sleep much at all, but would spend the majority of the night sitting outside, swathed in blankets, clutching one of her knives and staring at the fire, and had dark purple bruises under her eyes to rival Murtagh's own because of her lack of sleep.

Falcon was more than a little strange and as mysterious as the stars. Mostly she was simply quiet and serious, though with a very quick temper, but sometimes she was happy and laughing and energetic, while at other times she would fall into a brooding, mournful silence and a lethargy so extreme that she could spend hours at a time sitting in one place, staring at the same object without the slightest sign of boredom.

Falcon was human, Murtagh thought, but she was unlike any of the humans he knew.

Eight days after meeting her, Murtagh was out hunting with Falcon, and was again staring at her bow. It looked like the ones Galbatorix had had, those of elvish make. The limbs had the same graceful curves and the whole thing looked as though it had grown straight out of a tree and had hardly been carved at all. But where would an ordinary human girl get hold of an elven bow?

"Your bow..." the words came out without Murtagh really intending to say them.

"What about it?" Falcon sounded wary.

"I've been thinking about it for a while... it looks elven. Is it?"

"It might be." There was a definite note of pride in the girl's voice this time.

Murtagh was astounded.

"Where on earth did you get hold of an elven bow, Falcon?"

"I suppose it originally came from Du Weldenvarden, didn't it?"

"But where did _you_ get it?"

"I'm not telling you," Falcon said firmly.

"Tell me."

"It'll create more questions than it'll answer, if I know you. From what I've heard, your half-brother's the same. Always asking questions."

Discarding the fact that this girl seemed to know of his precise relation to the renowned Eragon Shadeslayer, Murtagh pressed on.

"I would still like to know how you got an elven bow, Falcon."

Falcon regarded Murtagh for a moment, as though deciding whether to answer him or not. Evidently she decided to tell him the truth, for she said, "Urû'baen. I acquired it in Urû'baen."

Stunned, Murtagh said, "How-?"

Falcon cut him off.

"I'm not telling you that. I won't be persuaded on this one."

Knowing a hopeless cause when he saw one, Murtagh gave up, and he and Falcon returned to hunting.

Later that night, Murtagh awoke from yet another nightmare to notice that Falcon was, for once, sound asleep, no doubt tired out by the day's hunting.

He was going outside for a walk when he heard a distinctly human sob from the back of the cave. Murtagh paused for a moment, unsure if he should intrude if Falcon was crying, even in her sleep.

He crept slightly closer and whispered the girl's name, but received no response.

Murtagh waited a minute or so, and was about to leave when he heard Falcon begin to weep in earnest, her thin shoulders trembling. He hesitated for a moment more, then walked quickly to Falcon's side to make sure she was alright.

As Murtagh got closer, he could make out disjointed words among the sobs. _How could... mother... Eldunarí... father... why... dragons..._

_How, by the lost kings, could she know about Eldunarí? _Murtagh thought.

Still, whatever else, it sounded as though Falcon was suffering from nightmares similar to Murtagh's own. Suddenly her reluctance to rest, her brooding silences and the bruises under her eyes all made sense. She was as afraid of sleep as Murtagh was himself, but unlike him, she had no partner of her life to draw comfort from in her sleep.

What terrible events in her past did she dream about? Murtagh could not help but wonder. How much pain had she gone through?

But whatever else, Murtagh could not, in good conscience, allow another person to suffer so much if he could help it, so he reached out and gently shook Falcon's shoulder and whispered her name. She stirred but did not wake, so Murtagh shook her again, slightly harder, and said her name right in her ear.

Falcon jerked awake very suddenly, holding back a yell in a way that was all too familiar to Murtagh. The knife she had been holding hissed through the air less than an inch in front of Murtagh's nose, and for a moment cold, angry fire burned in her eyes.

Falcon looked around wildly for an instant, then seemed to realise where and when she was, and relaxed into her blankets.

"Are you alright?" Murtagh asked, "You were having a nightmare."

Falcon seemed to notice him for the first time. She murmured, "Yes, indeed I was. Was it you who woke me? Thank you."

"You were talking in your sleep. Crying, too."

Falcon looked scared. "What did I say?"

"Something about mother and father, and dragons, and..." Murtagh trailed off, unsure whether he should continue.

"And?" Falcon prompted.

"And... Eldunarí." Murtagh said finally.

"Oh. That," Falcon muttered uncomfortably.

"How do you know about them?"

"It's none-"

"Of my business. I know. But you have to tell me all the same. It's one of Alagaësia's best kept secrets. Only a few elves, Eragon, Nasuada and a few others know of them. Probably five-and-ten at the most. How could you know? Who told you?"

"No one _told _me. I found out for myself. Eavesdropping on private conversations is as good a way as any to find out what nobody sees fit to tell you."

"_Whose _conversations, though, Falcon?"

"Why, who else but Galbatorix?"

**Again, any theories you have about Falcon or anything else. I really, really want to see if anyone can figure anything out ahead of time. I just love it when that happens. Please, please, please, even if you think it's unlikely. **

**Thank you for reading!**


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